


you look holy

by liesmith



Series: stray (fake chop) [12]
Category: Cow Chop
Genre: Fake Chop, M/M, french accent: i do the bad write, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 15:37:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15122522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liesmith/pseuds/liesmith
Summary: buildings, cars, non-livingorthey were both just trying to keep themselves from spilling out





	you look holy

Aleks often crawls into bed late in the mornings, kind of like a really annoying, shitty alarm clock that wakes you up when it feels like. Brett can’t be that mad; insomnia is not kind to Aleks, but neither is this job. It just makes Brett roll over and throw an arm up, and the blond tucks himself neatly into the shape of Brett, and while Brett manages between another hour to three, Aleks is passed out for the morning and part of the afternoon. If Brett was being honest, he sometimes forgets Aleks lives here until the thud of a body and a shower running around two reminds him that, ah, yes, another body exists here, in this deathly mortal plane with him.

On such a day, Brett sits and cleans his sniper rifle. He did it yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, a rhythmic tic that keeps his hands steady(ier). He doesn’t jump when the slightly damp body of Aleks drapes against his back, feels the weight of Aleks’ cheek in his hair. The city silence, the noises of cars and people and life, and Brett’s pretty sure if you listened close enough, the soft sprouting of succulent buds, little blooms on new stems.

There’s no talking as Brett puts the rifle down, cleaned and parts all snuggled back into place. He leans back, and Aleks leans forward, and Brett eases the blond down into his lap. Holding Aleks close has always felt pretty right and his hands are drawn like magnets to the right spots, one on his mid-back and one cupping a thigh. Aleks’ arms wrap around his neck and his face and messy wet hair press against Brett’s neck and jaw, and he wants to complain that it tickles, and why can’t you just towel dry your hair real quick, Aleks, you’re wet, you’re getting me wet, but... that would ruin everything.

So instead Brett just holds Aleks and then. Aleks just isn’t there. He’s always out like a ghost and then Brett’s alone with his thoughts and his feelings and.

And then it’s five am and where the fuck is time going and Aleks is climbing into bed. Brett rolls over, opens his arms, but not without getting a bleary eyed look at the blond, who looks like shit, and smells like blood. Brett can see the cut, dried and flaking above his eyebrow, the split lip. Brett holds him tighter and can physically feel the stress rolling away, the tension leaving Aleks’ body.

It’s eleven am when Brett wakes back up, on his back with a numb arm. Aleks is curled against his side, back to skin, and clutching Brett’s arm in a death grip. It’d be cuter if Brett didn’t have to piss. He manages to wiggle it free and when he returns, Aleks is sitting in his spot, rubbing blood from his lip. Brett watches for a moment before walking over, pushing the blond’s hand away and tilting his head back, applying pressure to the split lip. Aleks hisses beneath him but doesn’t fight it and Brett can only imagine how the night had gone.

Probably some jittery addict who got pissed about prices or over Aleks running dry on something, or something just stupid. This job was so fucking stupid, what they both did, but it was the only thing they were good at. Brett’s tried, really, to do anything but sit in deserts and line up shots but it just follows him from state to state and he’s too tired to keep running. He suspects Aleks is similar, but then again, they’ve never talked about it.

Brett remembers, slow as he tilts Aleks’ head back forward as the bleeding stops, wiping his hands off on his pajama pants, about the term soft targets. Some military shit some guy over comms kept babbling about one stake out, how hard targets were things like buildings, and soft targets…

Soft targets were people.

Brett lets himself be pulled down onto the bed, eyes drifting closed in the afternoon sun as Aleks curls back up around him, slotting a leg between Brett’s and face disappearing against his chest. The words stay unspoken between them, always have been, but Brett presses his face into messy hair from sleeping and product and wraps his arms around Aleks and squeezes tight.

They were nothing more than soft targets colliding with one another, two dumbass mistakes that wanted to be something more than this.

But here and now, this was more than something. Brett was a downright fool, but the warm body at his side was always here, night after night with him, and that was more than he could have ever wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> still fake chop, but pretend james doesn't exist
> 
> taking requests at my tumblr! preferably hundarhd atm bc im in a MOOD!!! but dont restrict urself. boydamsel @ tumblr


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